


amsterdam without you

by 1000_directions



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/M, Nostalgia, Recreational Drug Use, Windmills
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 16:13:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11901375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1000_directions/pseuds/1000_directions
Summary: Louis went to Amsterdam without Eleanor, and all he could do was think about her.





	amsterdam without you

**Author's Note:**

> Set in November, 2015, when Louis and his lads went to Amsterdam for Nizam's birthday [citation needed].

“Take it easy, mate!” Oli had said, clapping Louis on the shoulder. “We’ve got all night, don’t need to rush it!!” But Louis hadn’t listened, and he got too high, too fast, and now he’s sat on his bed in his hotel room in Amsterdam while the rest of the lads are out enjoying the holiday that he’s paying for. He half-heartedly palms his dick, but it doesn’t seem interested. Typical.

He could have stayed out with the others. He’s been looking forward to this trip, in a way. He loves a proper night out with the lads, a little smoking and drinking, the chance to turn off his head and just feel things light and easy for once, wispy like smoke. He’s been looking forward to a break. A pause. A breath in and another breath back out.

It’s fuckin’ funny that all Eleanor ever wanted was for him to take a break and spend some time with her, and now that he’s finally got one coming, she isn’t here anymore.

He could have stayed out, if he could have stopped thinking about Eleanor for long enough to have a good time. But they sent him back to the room by himself because he’s shit like this, bitter and mean and no fun. Mopey and high and stuck in a memory.

They were spread out on the couch together at his home, back when it was still good between them, when a rare weekend off was still something to look forward to and treasure and not one more chance for him to disappoint her with his scarceness. Eleanor had her head in his lap, mumbling nonsense into his thigh. She didn’t smoke much, and it always hit her fast and all at once, made her soft and silly and lovely. Louis was pleasantly stoned, eyes feeling heavy, smile light and easy. He thought about rolling up another, but the papers were all the way over there, and he didn’t want to get up and disturb Eleanor just then. Maybe in a little while, but not just then.

“Why’s it illegal?” she muttered after a bit. Louis reached down to brush the hair from her face, fingers lingering over her cheekbones. “Reckon people would be happier if they could feel like this more.”

“It’s legal some places,” he said. “Amsterdam. Dunno if people are happier there, but they might be.”

“Is that the one with the tulips?” she asked, squinting up at him.

“Couldn’t tell you, love.”

“The tulips and the windmills,” she said, reaching for her phone. “That’s someplace, Lou. That’s a place.”

“Really not sure, darling.” 

Louis pet her hair while Eleanor took an inordinately long time combing through Wikipedia page after Wikipedia page.

“Holland,” she finally said, sounding dejected. “Tulips and windmills are in Holland.”

“What’s in Amsterdam then?”

“Gimme a moment,” she said, clicking through a few more pages. “Looks like...mostly pot and sex workers.”

“Love a bit of pot and sex workers,” Louis said, tugging on the edges of her hair. “Proper romantic holiday spot.”

“Proper romantic,” she agreed. “Nice spot for our honeymoon. I’ll put it on the list.”

His heart seized in his chest, like it did every time that Eleanor suggested so casually that they’d be married someday. Like an inevitability they were both headed towards. It felt that way for him, always, and it was comforting to know she felt the same. His partner. He hadn’t even properly proposed, but they both knew, and they both wanted it, and that was something he could hold onto when he went weeks or months without seeing her.

“I’ll take you there someday,” Louis said, running his thumb along the outside of her ear. “I’ll smoke you up and get you a nice prostitute, El.”

“ _I’ll_ smoke you up,” she said, rolling onto her side. “ _I’m_ a nice prostitute.”

“Oh fuck,” he whispered, as Eleanor nuzzled her face into his crotch. He could feel her warmth right through his joggers, her nose right up against his hardening dick. She mouthed at him through the material, and he let his head drop backwards onto the couch, closing his eyes and breathing out one shuddery breath after another.

It was a lifetime ago. It seems so real and visceral that he can almost feel it coiling through his veins, like the high he has today could be the high he had that day. It’s so close he can taste it on the back of his tongue, and still, it’s gone forever.

For a few months after they broke up, he just waited. He kissed some other girls and let a few suck his dick, but he didn’t fuck anyone, and he didn’t want to. Eleanor would come back. They would get back together. They were an inevitability. But as time moved on, Eleanor wasn’t coming back. And then Zayn wasn’t coming back. And Louis didn’t know who he was supposed to talk to about either of those things. He couldn’t talk to Eleanor about Zayn. He couldn’t talk to Zayn about Eleanor. So he drank more, and he went out more, and then he fucked a lot of girls, one after the other, sometimes two or three in the same night. Who cared? Who _cared_ ? He’d been a fucking popstar for four fucking years, letting Eleanor lead him around by the dick, being faithful to her, never even looking at another girl. He’d had _opportunities_ , and he hadn’t taken them. He’d been good, he’d loved her, and it felt like he was being punished. So fuck her, and fuck everyone else. And he did. He fucked _everyone_ else.

And still… still a small part of him wondered how long it would take for Eleanor to want him back again. And then Briana called and told him she was pregnant, and he knew he’d ruined it between them forever.

He’s going to be a dad. He’s twenty-three years old, he’s from Doncaster, he’s in a band called One Direction, and he’s going to be a dad. It’s a fact about him, an objective statement that’s true and indisputable. In just a few months, he’s going to be a dad, and last year, this was just about all he’d ever wanted, some time off and a baby on the way. But Eleanor’s not here, and he’s going to have a baby with someone who isn’t her, and part of him is terrified that he’s not going to be able to love it.

 _Him_.

He might not be able to love him, the son he just recently found out is going to be a son afterall. That baby is going to need him and rely on him, and Louis will need to take care of him, and he’s fucking terrified he might not even be able to love him.

 _You have a tender sponge of a heart_ , his mum had said once. _You give it a little squeeze, and a whole ocean pours out of it._ And he’s always thought she was right. He’s always loved too quickly, too much. He doesn’t keep any for himself. He’s always been able to split his heart a dozen different ways, loving Eleanor and Zayn and his mum and Lottie and his nan and Oli and Liam and all of the other people in his life. He loves them fiercely and permanently, and he doesn’t even have to think about it. It’s a reflex. But what if he looks into that boy’s face and doesn’t see anything that looks like him? What if all he sees is a mistake?

After Briana told him, Louis started having odd dreams. Sometimes, they were about Briana giving birth to a puppy, or to a whole bunch of spiders. But sometimes, he dreamed about Eleanor. Dreamed she called him up, voice so scared and hesitant. Dreamed that she called to tell him she was pregnant, and it was his, and could they try again? Those were the ones that really fucked him up. He just wanted it so badly.

How long does it take to get over the love of your life?

Does it take the entire rest of your life? Is the answer right there in the name of it?

He falls asleep at some point, sat there on the bed. He’ll wake up when the lads get back, full of incoherent stories that he’ll smile at sleepily, pretending to understand. He’ll be better by tomorrow. He’ll pace himself, smoke slow and deep, he’ll savour it and stretch it out. Something clenched tight inside him will unfurl. He’ll be fun and easygoing. They’ll all make memories, the lot of them. They’ll celebrate, and he’ll laugh and dance. The time of his life. And the next day, when they pile onto the plane, mouths dry and heads fuzzy, he’ll rest his face against the window and watch the world fall away as the plane ascends. And as the buildings get smaller and smaller, before they disappear completely, they’ll pass over the windmills, proud and powerful and distant. It turns out they do have windmills in Amsterdam, because Amsterdam is a city in Holland. It was always true, and him not knowing it didn’t make it any less true. And he’ll snap a picture on his phone, hurried and out of focus, and he’ll close his heavy eyes and think, _Wish you were here_.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr post](http://1000-directions.tumblr.com/post/164585314529/amsterdam-without-you-by-1000directions-louis-and)


End file.
